


Take me by the hand (Give me a memory I can use)

by incandescence



Category: Hey! Say! JUMP
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Emotional Manipulation, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Reverse Chronology, Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 23:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19755769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incandescence/pseuds/incandescence
Summary: He’s beautiful, and Yamada is in so much trouble.





	Take me by the hand (Give me a memory I can use)

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in one shot in 2017, and discovered it again whilst procrastinating on YYE. Unbeta-ed, and minimal edits have been made. Please be kind;;;

Yamada takes one, final moment to admire the sleeping boy behind him. This is his favourite version of Yuto; serene, and without worry and frustrations lining his forehead and lingering in his eyes. He’s beautiful, and Yamada is so in love. 

And after everything, that’s the most tragic of them all. From the bottom of his heart; unlikely he’ll ever stop.

He leans in to kiss Yuto’s temple. 

" _Goodbye_ ,” he whispers, swallowing down the lump in his throat.

And then he turns and doesn’t look back.

* * *

Yamada moans into Yuto’s neck. “ _More_. Please.”

Yuto complies—thrusts into him _hard_ ; one, two. Yamada buckles at the sensation as he chokes back a sob; grips onto Yuto’s shoulders for dear life.

“Yuto,” he can’t help but cry out as Yuto, huffing, resumes a steady rhythm. Over and over again. “Yuto, Yuto, _Yuto_.”

He never can stop himself from uttering Yuto’s name. This, Yamada has learnt to accept.

“What?” Yuto coaxes. His eyes are dark and filled with lust. Here, wrapped in Yuto’s strong arms, Yamada is home. “What? Tell me.”

“Yuto,” he murmurs again, and they share a kiss; slow and passionate. “ _Yuto_.” 

He says his name because it’s safer than the alternative. It’s safer than _I love you_ , or _I need you_ , or _I’m sorry_.

His name is safe. Yuto is safe.

He’s close—so close. From the way Yuto quickens his pace, he’s close too. Yamada feels a vicious sense of pride, being the one to elicit these noises from Yuto.

“Say my name,” Yamada demands through his own groans . It’s the first time he’s ever demanded this. And it feels somewhat monumental, which aligns with the occasion, he figures. He digs his nails deeper into Yuto’s back.

“Ryo-Ryosuke,” Yuto complies with a stutter, and he jerks; _once, twice_ before coming inside Yamada with a shuddering moan. 

“Come for me baby,” Yuto whispers before biting down on his ear, hot breath sending Yamada into spasms of pleasure.

With a low cry, he does.

* * *

He wraps his jacket tighter around himself; fishes out a cigarette from the packet he picked up from Suda’s floor. Yamada stops to watch the sun rise.

Whether this inner peace is due to the nicotine or the glow of the early morning sun wrapping itself around him like a warm blanket, he isn’t certain. Either way, this is the calmest he’s felt in a long, long, time.

For once, he’s unwavering in his decision.

* * *

Suda tastes of cigarettes and smells like strong whiskey.

He fucks exactly how Yamada thought he would: rough, careless, and with reckless abandon. Yamada fists the grey sheets in each hand; bites down on the pillow as he grinds back onto Suda’s dick. 

It’s nothing like fucking Yuto, but that’s the whole point of this.

“You’re so hot, you know?” Suda grunts. “We could have had way more fun before this.”

Yamada doesn’t reply. This is his first, and it will be his last.

* * *

It was supposed to be a night out to forget everything. One night of fun before starting back to back filming of his two new movies. Instead, the last person on Earth he wants to see is strolling up to him, a lazy smirk gracing his expression.

“Wanna come dance?” he asks, and Yamada’s finished his drink, and he has no idea where any of his friends are, so he doesn’t have an excuse to say no. He sets his glass down on the table and follows Suda out onto the dancefloor. Holds his hand out for a cigarette, too, because why not. Suda raises an eyebrow but hands over the one he’d fished out for himself; goes a step further and lights it for him, too

Suda’s a good dancer, but this is not new information. It already exists in a small, receded space in Yamada’s brain, and he’s surprised when it floats to the forefront of his mind. He doesn’t remember when he was told; only knows without a doubt from whom he was.

Lately, it’s been all about Suda—on TV, on billboards all around Shibuya, on the radio—as though there’s nothing the boy can’t do. The usual spike of jealousy flares up inside of him, and the longer he watches Suda move on the dance floor, all sleek lines and swaying hips, the bitter monster only grows within. He needs another drink.

All of a sudden Suda stops dancing, but his smirk grows wider. “You can kiss me if you’d like,” he drawls, approaching Yamada, a predatory look in his eyes. “Like what you see?”

Later, he won’t be able to rationalise exactly why, but Yamada kisses Suda in the middle of the dancefloor.

It’s so wrong and he hates it, but maybe—just maybe—this is exactly what he needs.

* * *

Yuto gets cut from his project, the one where he was to play the promiscuous son of a wealthy businessman. Yamada doesn’t find out from Yuto himself. He barges into Yuto’s apartment with the key he never gave back, and brandishes his phone in Yuto’s face.

“Is it true?”

Yuto, lying on his stomach on the bed, barely spares Yamada a glance before faceplanting back onto his pillow. “Good God, word travels quick.”

“Yuto.” He doesn’t get a repsonse. Yamada shuts the door behind him and makes his way over. “Yuto.”

It’s only when Yamada sits gingerly on the edge of the bed that Yuto finally sits up and snaps, “What? Why are you here? You’re obviously well informed, you don’t need to hear it from me.”

Yamada fights to keep calm; looks into those fierce, pained eyes. “I haven’t seen you in weeks,” he says instead of “ _I’m so worried about you, I wish you would speak to me._ ”

It works—the fight leaves Yuto’s eyes. Yuto scoots closer to Yamada on the bed, and wraps him up in an embrace. Yamada melts into his arms. It’s been so long.

“I missed you too,” Yuto murmurs. When he starts pressing light, feathery kisses into the curve of Yamada’s neck, it takes all of his efforts to not whimper. _So long._

He raises a hand to guide Yuto’s chin up; loses himself in those deep, warm, _vulnerable_ eyes before capturing those lips with his own. Yuto gives his all into the kiss, just like he used to give his all into everything else.

Amidst the sheets and their discarded clothes, Yamada rocks against Yuto and pretends that everything is okay.

* * *

This needs to stop; he’s well aware. He can’t remember a time he didn’t have this awful pit in his stomach. He feels like a stranger in his own home; tiptoeing around, jumping at every noise, not knowing whether he’s alone or not. And then when he does see Yuto, it’s like interacting with a stranger. Never knowing what substance he’ll be on this time; what kind of state he’ll be in. It’s a constant battle, fighting to not get sucked into an unescapable vortex.

“You need to move on,” Chinen says one morning of over coffee, in a gentler tone than he’s ever used with him before. “Don’t let him drag you into his self-destruction.”

And Yamada knows deep down that Chinen is right, but also knows that he’s not yet strong enough to do so.

He hasn’t had enough yet; he’s not ready for this to be over. Yuto is his drug—irresistable, alluring—and he still needs his fix, no matter how infrequent.

Still, he copes by keeping busy. He piles as much work onto his plate as they’ll give him, and between that, learning his scripts, and saying yes to every social event he can just to fill up the blanks in his calendar, on most days Yamada feels like he can function again. 

On others, he doesn’t leave his bed, tortured by dreams and fantasies about what could have been.

* * *

Yamada does what he does best. Throws himself into work. Takes multiple trips for work. Visits his mother and his sisters and spoils them silly for a week.

And when Yuto calls, he always comes, an addict answering the tantalising, beckoning call of his vice.

* * *

“It didn’t mean anything, okay?”

Still, it’s the last straw on a stack of many. And the way Yuto’s acting now, dismissive and uncaring…, “It doesn’t seem like your heart’s in it anymore, really. It seems like you’ve moved on.”

Yuto doesn’t dispute it, so that’s that—a clean cut affair. For an hour afterwards, Yamada sits on his bed with his knees propped up to his chest, arms wrapped around them. He stares at the door until the corners of his eyes burn.

He doesn’t cry.

Through sheer grit, Yamada somehow makes it through the filming and promotions. It’s difficult, Suda always _there_ , but he does it, of which he’s fiercely proud.

Days later, they end up in bed together again because Yuto _begs_ and Yuto never begs. Yuto’s also never been this vulnerable before; latching onto Yamada’s arm, kissing him with such desperation, sucking angry marks into his skin that last for days and days.

“I need you,” Yuto whispers over and over again, kissing all over Yamada’s body, hands running up and down his sides making him shiver, moan, and shake. “Ryosuke, I need you. Don’t leave me. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

And now that he’s seen this side of Yuto, how can he ever let him go?

“I’m here,” he whispers back, silencing Yuto with a kiss. “I’m right here.”

Things are good for about a week. After that, he all but vanishes once more.

* * *

Yamada’s a library assistant in his new drama, and Suda Masaki, of all people, plays one of the nerdy college students.

“Yuto talks about you all the time,” Suda informs him when they’re introduced. There are butterflies in his chest at the thought of Yuto speaking about him, but something about the way Suda silently assesses him during breaks between filming sets Yamada on edge.

Still, for the rest of the day he carries on; recites his lines like he rehearsed, and ignores the niggling feeling at the back of his mind. Work time is work time; there’s no space for anything else.

When he’s leaving set, Suda joins him, matching his pace step by step. A sense of dread forms in the pit of his stomach. For reasons unbeknownst to him, he doesn’t particularly want to be friends with Suda, who gives off an air of danger; of malintent. Yamada quickens his pace. 

“He’s a good kisser,” Suda says conversationally, as though they’re talking about the fucking weather. Yamada doesn’t like this trend of Suda dropping verbal bombs on him. He would prefer him to stay the fuck away. “I can see why you like him.”

He laughs and carries on walking, brushing past Yamada who freezes to a standstill on the sidewalk as his whole world comes crashing down around him.

***

Come to think of it, he’d heard rumours. Rumours of a short attention span, a ‘use-em-and-leave-em’ mentality, a string of broken hearts lying strewn across the floor.

He should have paid closer attention. He should have known better than to trust those puppy dog eyes, the come hither look used with devilish intention, and stayed the fuck away. 

And yet, even now, none of it feels wrong. It feels like their paths were meant to intersect for this brief period in their life. That his heart was meant to be broken into a million pieces by this particular person, at this particular point in time.

Yamada doesn’t feel strong at all, but he’s determined he won’t be like the others. He’s Yamada Ryosuke—at the very least, he’ll walk with his head up high.

* * *

At first, nothing changes, despite their new living arrangement, which is what Yamada prefers. He takes it as undeniable proof that what they have is something special that can withstand time.

And then slowly, nothing’s the same at all.

They still cook. They still sit together on the couch practising scripts; sometimes side by side, sometimes with Yuto’s feet in Yamada’s lap. They still go on spontaneous trips and search for hidden neighbourhood gems; still kiss with fervour and drive each other wild with hot touches.

But Yuto begins to stay out later and later, and when he does come home at six am he’s incoherent, and reeks of alcohol. He takes to sleeping on the couch on these nights; Yamada spends a few extra minutes in the morning lamenting the lack of extra warmth in his bed. There’s a distance between them that starts to grow, and nothing Yamada does fixes it. 

It’s fine. That new project really took a toll on him, and Suda knows all the hot spots in town. He’s glad Yuto is having fun. He worked hard—he deserves it. It’s _fine_. Yamada is fine. If he repeats it like a mantra, he’s sure somehow it’ll stick to the fibres of his being.

He has work. He has his friends. He had a routine before Yuto; another life where he was happy; another life where he was independent. He just has to readapt. It’ll be easy.

He drifts off to sleep with a heavy heart, and wakes up with an even heavier one. On the rare occasion there is a warm body beside him, Yamada’s the loneliest he’s ever felt in his life.

Things were good, until they’re not.

* * *

Messages that were once frequent now go unanswered for days. When they do see each other, Yuto’s always so tired, so Yamada finds himself visiting more and more.

Yuto used to love coming over to his apartment; marvelled at his artwork, his furniture, _him_.

Now, Yuto always seems distracted. Yamada doesn’t want to admit that he notices the change in Yuto’s eyes; the way they went from bright and sparkling to dark and glassy. So, he throws himself into work. Tells himself he doesn’t need anything else; that Yuto’s just going through a phase; that it’s fine to be more satisfied with his work life than his personal life.

And yet.

And yet.

* * *

“I have a new project,” Yuto tells him, knocking his forehead into the side of Yamada’s head. Yamada twists in Yuto arms to look at him: he’s positively beaming. Yamada’s chest hurts with emotion, and he can’t stop the own grin that spreads slowly across his face.

“That’s great! Congratulations!” He raises a hand to cup the side of Yuto’s face; guides him into a kiss. “What’s the project? Who’s it with?”

They’re at the beach, lazing on a blanket on the sand, admiring the crisp, clear sea that’s colder than it looks. Yamada knows this on account of being dunked in mercilessly despite his kicking and yelling. His revenge had been to sneak up behind him and drape liberal amounts of seaweed onto Yuto’s back. The look sheer terror as he’d turned, screamed, and fallen back into the water had been _priceless_.

“It’s with Suda Masaki. I’m to play his rival.” 

* * *

When he’s with Yuto, he can be completely and wholly himself. He’d always thought it’d be troublesome, dating another actor, but he’s quickly learning that it’s quite the opposite; at least with Yuto. Dates involve either cooking together, or looking for new restaurants around the area. They sit side-by-side on the couch for hours, learning their scripts individually or helping each other out.

And when they’re not doing either of these things they’re in bed together, fucking like the world is about to end.

“You’re so hot,” Yuto moans, hands traversing down the curve of Yamada’s back, _down, down_ , to clutch at his ass. “So beautiful.”

It’s an indescribable feeling, to be wanted this much. Yamada groans as Yuto angles his hips, thrusting into him just right. 

The room is filled with an intermingling of ragged gasps and filthy moans. The sound is music to Yamada’s ears.

* * *

Truth be told, he should have seen the warning signs.

“I’m so insecure,” Nakajima confesses over his second cocktail. He’s smiling as he says it, a lopsided, self-deprecating smile. It’s quickly becoming one of Yamada’s favourite smiles.

“We’re all insecure about something,” Yamada replies. He’s also smiling. He wants to say, “ _But you’re gorgeous and sexy, and _smart_ : you have nothing to be insecure about._” But he doesn’t. Yamada hates himself a little for how fast he’s falling, 

Nakajima shakes his head; lifts the cigarette up to his lips as he takes a drag. On the exhale he says, “You don’t understand.” 

Maybe not, but at this moment, Yamada doesn’t care about anything other than the fact that he wants him.

* * *

There’s immediate chemistry between them, and it’s difficult to stay focused during the variety show filming. He’s beautiful, and Yamada is in so much trouble.

Nakajima Yuto chases him down and asks for his number after the show. Yamada’s never been so fast to hand it out in his life.

“Call me,” he says, heart thumping in his chest. 

“Oh I will,” Nakajima replies, a lilting quality to his voice. His eyes are dark and full of promise.


End file.
